


Whispers of Freedom

by Mazzeroo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bloodfyre (dragon), Dothraki bloodriders, F/F, F/M, Fighter Pilot Dany (future), Fluff and Smut, Ghost (good boy), Good King Aerys, Jon and Arya are siblings, Jon is a warg, Modern Royalty, Modern Westeros, Moondancer (dragon), Najaho (OC), Olenna is Hand of the Monarchs, Puppy Love, Queen Rhaella, Ranger Jon (future), Smut, Stormcloud (dragon), Targs ride dragons, Vizharo (OC), no psycho aerys on my watch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazzeroo/pseuds/Mazzeroo
Summary: Headlines:Modern AU Jonerys, Targaryen royalty - King Aerys and Queen Rhaella rule over all of Westeros + Nine Cities of Essos,Dany & Jon meets on and off as children, end up at same school as teenagers - Daynes, Starks, Tyrells, Lannisters, Tarlys, Baratheons, Greyjoys there too.Dany grows up to become a fighter pilot, Jon becomes a Night’s Watch Ranger.We’ll have wars, crashing planes, and MIA soldiers, and mysterious men.There are dragons, direwolves and other animals - Jon can warg and Dany rides a dragon.Dothraki, Freefolk, Faceless Men and Sons of the Harpy





	1. If by My Life or Death I Can Protect You, I Will

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a crazy idea in my head many, many moons ago. Then in December there was tag-game going around tumblr asking people to give little info on fic ideas they had and/or WIP's. [Alice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza) tagged me, I answered and she was immediately back in my inbox asking about this particular idea lol
> 
> Since then I've gained a bit on confidence on my other fic (for those of you who read it - thank you so very much, and yes I'll get to the last few chapters soon. I promise!)
> 
> For getting this far as to post is I must thank a number of people: [Alice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza) and [Sharon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/pseuds/LustOnMyFingers) for being the first ones to knowingly/unknowingly cheer me on. I didn't even know them and yet their encouraging comments made me believe that maybe I should actually try to write this thing. So thank you ladies! [Val](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValDeCastille/pseuds/ValDeCastille) and [Shawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeDeWitt/pseuds/CallMeDeWitt) for supporting me and letting me run ideas by them. Last but not least a big thank you to [NorthernLights37](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernLights37) for letting me borrow an idea from one of her stories and transferring to mine 💕 and to [AFCBrandon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFCBrandon/pseuds/AFCBrandon) for helping me choose a title for this fic. 
> 
> Big thanks to my sis Val for going over this chapter and help fix my very late night / early morning ramblings + made the gorgeous moodboard. Lova ya, sis! 💖

 

** Dragonstone **

 

The flames of the funeral pyre fluttered in the wind; pulled and twisted in all directions. Black pillars of smoke blew into the wind, carrying ashes and remains straight out to the sea. Soon there'd be nothing left but the scorched ground the platform had been built upon. Stormcloud had set the pyre ablaze with his own flames before taking to the skies with a heart-breaking screech; leaving no doubt among the spectators how deeply pained the young dragon was by the loss of his rider.

It had been a small and private ceremony. No grand speeches, only silent tears and solemn faces. What could be said about someone who’d grown from a boy into a man while in a deep coma? Someone who’d spent half his life in a vegetative state, while his family kept hoping against hope that a miracle would happen?

While the Queen accompanied the small gathering back to the castle, the King opted to stay behind for a moment. Standing by himself, Aerys watched the last embers of his son's funeral pyre slowly burn out. Now all that remained were the memories of his sweet, little boy.

"I'm very sorry for Your loss, Your Majesty."

The voice - appearing out of nowhere - startled him. It was a familiar one though. Only one person known to him had a voice with the unique mix of heartfelt warmth and cool confidence of a battle-hardened commander.

"Thank you, Major Stark," he uttered. Taking a deep breathe, the King spoke again. "I tell myself he's finally at peace; something he'd long deserved." 

"A comforting thought indeed, Your Majesty. May the Old Gods and the New bless the Prince when they greet him in the Heavens."

Slowly lifting his head, the King took in the view. It was a beautiful day at Dragonstone - the sun shone on a clear blue sky with no hint of a cloud in sight. Even the sea was relatively calm. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly, enjoying the feeling of the cool wind on his face. The warmth of the sun was comforting, yet he had always preferred the wind - as had his youngest son. Viserys had loved the wind to such degree that he’d named his dragon after his absolute favourite kind of cloud - Stormcloud.

The little Prince had been so proud when his egg had hatched on his bed one night. As per ancient tradition, every Targaryen was given a dragon egg at birth, and child and egg would spend the nights together from then on. Every other child in the world had a teddy bear to hug at night - a Targaryen child had a dragon egg. Viserys had been five years old at the time and it had been very unexpected for the egg to hatch so early. Rhaegar’s egg didn’t hatch until he was 12, making his dragon, Moondancer, two years younger than Stormcloud. Daenerys’ little drama queen of a dragon, Bloodfyre, had burst through his shell, hissing and growling, on the Princess’ eighth nameday.

Viserys had been so excited to wake and see a tiny dragon sitting on his chest observing him, that he had shrieked with joy - startling the little thing who replied with a hiss.

The little Prince’s squeal had caused his guard, Sir Arthur, to barge into the bedroom causing even more hissing from the dragon. Since then, Stormcloud only hissed at humans he liked - everyone else would be ignored. The two had taken their first tentative flight five years later, no other Targaryen in recent history had had a dragon from such an early age. Sadly, Viserys and Stormcloud would be separated not long after.

"When you arrived this morning, you delivered condolences to the Queen and I on behalf of the Houses Stark and Dayne, so I take it this is of a more personal nature?"

"Affirmative, Sir." 

“How many times must I tell you to call me ‘Aerys’?” 

“At least once more, Sir.”

The King hummed briefly in response to that, a smile tugging at his lips. “Tell me, Major, do you take personal pleasure in sneaking up on old men such as myself?"

"My apologies, Your Majesty; force of habit.” Without looking, the King could tell the Major smiled. They knew each other well. ”You know us Faceless Men - we blend in with the shadows as with the lights, Sir."

"Oh, don’t remind me!” Huffing out a laugh he continued, “barely a month goes by without a complaint from Lord Baelish about how Jaqen has been _‘sneaking around’_.” He shook his head lightly. “I shouldn’t be complaining, however - it used to be a weekly matter until one day during a Council meeting Olenna had enough.”

Aerys began chuckling as he conveyed the story: “She told him that if the Lord of the Vale didn’t like getting caught by a smarter and better predator then either he should learn from it or he could go hunting elsewhere. Either way she didn’t care, but if he whined to her one more time about the Faceless Men’s representative in the Council he could go, and I quote, _shit himself_.” The King was laughing so hard he’d barely been able to finish his story. “You should’ve seen Petyr’s face. It was priceless!” Bent over, hands clutching his thighs the King was wheezing with laughter.

A warm, firm hand gripped his shoulder. No words were exchanged but Aerys understood the concern implied, nonetheless. So, he straightened himself back up and took in a few deep breaths of fresh air to steady himself, the Major’s hand still resting on his shoulder. Gently, he removed it and gave it a tight squeeze.

“I’m alright, Lyanna. I promise.”

Lyanna answered with her signature warm smile and a curt nod before stepping away.

“ _‘Lord’_ _Petyr Baelish_.” She spit, every word coated with venom. “Whatever You do, Your Majesty, I urge You to be careful around him in every aspect.”

“I trust him about as far as I can throw him.” The King snorted, “but without proof of any wrongdoings my hands are tied. Even Jaqen hasn’t found anything.”

“As member of the Council, Colonel H’ghar’s task is to collect intelligence reports from the kingdom regions and assess security threats etc., not to investigate individual cases, Sir.”

“Correct, so do you have any suggestions, Major?”

“Perhaps You should have someone else look into it, Sir.”

“Yes…  I should definitely have someone look into it,” the King replied thoughtfully.

“Say the word and someone will.”

“Consider the word said.”

“Consider the deed done, Sir." 

The two of them exchanged a knowing look before the King circled back to the matter of Olenna Tyrell:

“Not once have the Queen and I regretted our decision to make ‘the Queen of Thorns’ our Hand. That particular day though, oh that was one of her finer moments!” Aerys chuckled. “She’s heading a Council meeting as we speak. Thankfully, she’s handled the press as well the past couple of days...” His eyes drifted back to the few remaining embers.

“—with her usual velvety gloved iron-fist, Your Majesty, making it clear that no member of the royal family would be taking part in the media’s 24/7 tributes to Prince Viserys.”

Once again, he could hear the smile in Lyanna’s voice, enjoying whatever the Hand of the Monarchs must’ve said at the press conference. It was no secret that Olenna wasn’t a fan of the media. However, she tolerated the more serious media houses who did their due diligence, researched thoroughly, and brought facts and information to the masses. They were few and far between these days though. The tabloids on the other hand...well, the old Tyrell had famously told them to ‘piss off’, so no doubt she must’ve told them something similar this time around if the Major’s reaction was anything to go by.

“That bad?” 

“They’ve been running almost non-stop stories about ‘the Little Hero Prince’, Sir.”

The King snorted and glared at the scorched dirt a short distance from where he and Lyanna stood before turning on his heels, moving swiftly back towards the castle with Lyanna following suit.

“They are not wrong to call him that, but….” Aerys stopped in his tracks and turned to face Lyanna. “Do they not know how many they hurt by repeating it for days on end? Do they not know the pain they inflict again and again AND AGAIN?!”

The characteristic grey eyes of a Stark looked at him, filled with sympathy. If anyone could understand the soul-crushing pain it was to have the tragic fate of a loved one smeared on front-pages, across the news and as a constant subject of discussion by self-declared pundits on whatever tv-show they could get their sleazy asses maneuvered into, it would be one of the Stark children.

Some twenty years ago the plane carrying the Duke of Winterfell and his heir exploded somewhere North of the Wall. The news was everywhere. Constantly. In Winterfell, a horrified widow was left with three devastated children. No one would tell her anything because no one knew anything. North of the Wall was still Freefolk territory and no search & rescue teams dared to enter without Freefolk guides to protect them. Meanwhile in King’s Landing a young King was scrambling to get as much information as he possibly could. He personally flew to Winterfell to deliver the unredacted report a week later.

After the explosion, the security in the North had become unstable, and the Duchess of Winterfell had resorted to send her children to safety in the South. Ned, Lya, and later Ben, were the only non-Targaryens to have lived on Dragonstone in centuries. Aerys had come to think of them as something akin to younger siblings. 

The Duke of Winterfell had been of the old school, so poor 16-year-old Eddard Stark had not been taught the ins and outs of being a Lord. To make up for that, the King’s uncle, Prince Aemon, had taken the young Lord under his wings and given him a speed course. On his 18th nameday, Eddard Stark was named Duke of Winterfell - a title he still served with honour. 

The explosion had brought two major changes with it: Firstly, a peace agreement with the Freefolk; essentially bringing them into the fold of the kingdom but as a Freefolk Reservation, thereby giving them the protection from outside threats as they needed, but also securing  their sovereignty to live and abide by their own law - within their territory - as they had required. Same format would be used with the Dothraki approximately a decade later.

Secondly, a Lord, including the King, would no longer travel with spouse and/or heir together in the same vehicle, train, ship or plane. This rule was the reason why Viserys, and not Rhaegar, had been with the King in Pentos when the assassination attempt on Khal Drogo and his wife had taken place.

“They know, Aerys,” Lyanna spoke quietly, softly. For the first time that day, she let her officer mask fall and showed him the heartbroken woman underneath. “They know, they just don’t care. They’ll claim the public has a right to know and thus they consider it their duty to inform.”

Aerys snorted. “Assholes,” he muttered under his breath.

Lyanna looked at him with a lopsided smile on her face. “Even Kings are allowed to cry, you know.”

“I’ve cried more than enough, Lyanna. I’m all cried out,” he confessed quietly. “But I don’t need to be reminded of that day. I remember all too well. I was there! Eleven years later and I can still see my little boy laying there in a pool of blood.” Despite his previous statement tears began burning in his eyes again, and he choked on the words as he whispered, “how am I ever supposed to forget that?”

“You’re not.” She wrapped her soft, warm palms around his own cold, fidgeting hands. “As a King, as a father, as a human being you’re not expected to forget a traumatic event like that, Aerys. What you experienced was every parent’s nightmare.”

“The Queen and I weren’t the only ones to suffer a terrible loss that day.” His voice was thick with sorrow and unshed tears. “Sir Arthur was shot in the back and is tied to a wheelchair for the rest of his life—

“—but he lives, Aerys,” Lyanna interjected optimistically.

“—Drogo’s Khalasar lost their beloved Khaleesi. The Khal himself lost his wife and mother of his sons - one of whom was only saved by an emergency caesarean section, for fuck’s sake!”

Aerys let go of her hands as he began pacing back and forth along the edge of the cliff, highly agitated and gesturing wildly with his hands and arms as he spoke.

“That is why I can’t forgive them, Lyanna! I just can’t.”

Waving his arm in the direction of the castle he continued, “I have an 11-year-old Dothraki boy in there, who does not need reminding of how the day of his birth also marked the day of other people’s death, including his own mother.”

He was back to pacing - now seasoned with kicking random pebbles off the cliff.

“Of course, I know,” he scuffed, “being a Dothraki born in the midst of blood and mayhem is practically a badge of honour for him. As a second son to the Khal he would not normally be deemed important, but due to circumstance of his birth they all view him almost equal to his older brother, Khalakka Najaho.”

Lyanna watched the King patiently as he continued his ranting.

“His father is the leader of the largest and most powerful Khalasar seen in many, many centuries, and yet that same man instantly decided to name his infant son after Westeros’ little dragon Prince.” Aerys choked on a new wave of tears threatening to break through his carefully constructed dam. Taken several deep breaths to steady himself, he continued in a more subdued tone. “Naming Vizharo bloodrider to the Queen’s unborn child was the ultimate acknowledgement of the sacrifice Viserys made that day.”

Lyanna walked over to stand next to her old friend, looping an arm around his back and waiting to speak until she had his full attention. When he turned his head and looked at her expectantly, sadness painted in every feature on his face, she spoke:

“Aerys, you need to listen to me carefully now; no interruptions. Alright?”

“Yes, Major.” A small jesting smile played on his lips.

Lyanna responded with a slow nod before she proceeded to speak in a warm, calm and clear voice: “A ten-year-old boy throwing himself in front of a gun with no care for himself is, to the Dothraki, not only a great warrior - he’s practically a God. To them Prince Viserys died 11 years ago in Illyrio Mopatis’ villa in Pentos. His body? No, but do they believe his spirit left his body then? Yes. His funeral today was a mere formality for the Dothraki.”

Aerys slumped down in the grass as she continued speaking, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“They’d seen him racing horses against Dothraki boys outside Pentos - and win. Khal Drogo himself witnessed him climb onto Stormcloud’s back like the dragon’s some sort of docile pet. To them, Prince Viserys had already proven his worth as a warrior. Fearlessly throwing himself in front of the Khaleesi, he died the most honourable death a Dothraki warrior can hope for.”

The King looked up at her with silent tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes pleading her to continue no matter how heart-wrecking it was for him to hear.

“Amid blood, death, bullets, screams and utter mayhem, an infant Dothraki boy was brought into this world - quietly observing his surroundings with big, bright eyes. Only the most courageous souls are born in such a fashion which lead to only one conclusion for the Khal: that his son’s the reincarnation of yours. ‘Vizhadi’ means silver in Dothraki; Viserys was the little silver Prince. Vizharo is twice-named after your son, Aerys. All of Drogo’s Khalasar view him as the spirit of a Targaryen prince living in the body of a Dothraki one.”

There was no stopping the flood of tears continually streaming down the King’s flushed cheeks. The dam had burst. This was the beginning of the closure he so badly needed.

“Khal Drogo didn’t make his youngest son Daenerys’ bloodrider solely because of Viserys’ sacrifice that day; he did it because he couldn’t imagine a better protector for the Princess than her own brave brother’s spirit residing in his son’s body.”

Lyanna crouched down next to Aerys as she handed him some tissues from her jacket pocket to wipe his eyes with.

Tenderly she whispered, “Aerys, Khal Drogo believes he only gave you back what was already yours - your son.”

Muttering under his breath he put words to his realisation, “bloodrider means ‘blood of my blood’.” The King was gasping for air in between sobs, fighting to gain control of his breathing - and himself - again.

“He was so excited to meet Dany; so excited to become a big brother...,” he muttered to himself. “When Rhaella went into early labour from the shock, I…. I was sure I would lose them all. I was so scared, Lyanna!” He choked on another sob, once again taking to stare into the horizon. “But our little Dany pulled through,” he sighed with relief.

“She’s strong, Aerys. A true dragon that one.”

“Strong as valyrian steel as her mother always says; and every day I thank the Gods I don’t believe in for letting us keep her - the same Gods I curse for taking away Viserys.”

Sat on the edge of the cliffs, staring at the sea, watching Moondancer and Stormcloud fishing, and feeling the wind on his face, he felt lighter than he had for a very long time. Maybe the Dothraki were on to something? As a Targaryen, he had been raised not to believe in any gods. What use were they to dragonriders? But just because Targaryens didn’t believe in deities didn’t mean they didn’t exist. How would he know, anyway? After all he was but a mere mortal King.

The tears slowly started to subside.

“Why have you never told me this before?” His voice was hoarse from crying. 

“You weren’t ready, my friend.”

“You think I was ready now?”

She smiled, “no, but you needed to hear it.”

“Always trust Lyanna Stark to speak the truth,” he chuckled. “Now help an old man back on his feet.”

“Uncle Aemon isn’t here,” she joked, jumping to her feet and running across the field.

“You cheeky little..!” Aerys stood quickly to catch up with the laughing Major. A lost cause but he would give it a go anyway.

What a sight the two of them made: Lyanna Stark - Major and head of the Faceless Men’s base in Qohor, a liaison between the Dothraki and the Crown – chased by Aerys Targaryen – King of Westeros and the Nine Cities of Essos. Both laughing and giggling like children as they ran, skipped and jumped around the grass.

 

\-----------

 

Stormcloud soared high above, shadowing the eagle circling the terrain further below. Jon could feel the dragon every time he warged into the majestic bird. Just at the edge of his mind there was a surge of warmth; a gentle sort of heat similar to that radiating off a small campfire at night. But it wasn’t supposed to be there. At all. Humans and dragons were off limits for wargs, his mothers always told him so. And if he could avoid it, he’d rather not invoke the anger of neither Lyanna Stark nor Ashara Dayne. Nothing in the world was worth paying that price.

Jon had arrived at Dragonstone the day prior together with uncle Oberyn. They flew in from Starfall after having spent a few weeks with uncle Arthur. This was his second year traveling with Prince Oberyn. He had seen the beauty of the Summer Sea, met the Sealord of Braavos, and stared in awe at giants and mammoths. It was a Dornish tradition that the heirs to the ancient houses would spend a good part of their adolescence traveling the world accompanied by a close relative – or in this case, an old family friend. To the Dornish it was considered an essential part of a proper education. How could you expect someone to serve, lead, or rule if that individual didn’t know the world? The only way to know the world was to see it, hear it, taste it, smell it, feel it and meet it head on.

With a rare few exceptions here and there, all houses of any importance in Westeros and the Nine Cities sent their heirs off to boarding school or military academies.

His cousin Robb had started attendance at the prestigious Westeros International School of Education earlier this year. When you’re twelve years old and by yourself, Winterfell is a long way from King’s Landing. Jon remembered how much he still missed his mothers every now and then - and Arya! He missed his little sister every day; missed watching the little troll eating her breakfast still half asleep. In a couple of years she’d join him and Oberyn on the road. Yet, through all these new places and faces he always had uncle Oberyn to rely on. Robb and all the other kids were on their own.

He felt the pull again; like there was a rope tied around his mind and someone pulled at it from afar. Not sure what would happen if he followed the pull, he thought it best to leave the eagle.

Looking down, he saw the characteristic silver hair of Princess Daenerys, sitting next to his body on the grass, giving Ghost a belly rub.

Drawing a deep breathe he blinked his eyes open, feeling the sturdiness of the ground beneath him and the softness of grass between his fingers. He carefully sat back up, slowly taking in his surroundings.

Daenerys grinned at him. “Welcome back, _‘sleepy head’._ ”

“Thank you for guarding me, Your Royal Highness. It’s very kind of You.”

“Ugh!” She rolled her eyes, “how many times must I tell you to call me ‘Dany’?”

“At least once more, Princess,” Jon replied softly.

She laughed, “you Starks and your unwavering honour.” 

“Stark Dayne.”

“Right, you doubled up on honour,” she chuckled while shaking her head with amusement.

Sending him a bright smile, she asked, “where were you this time?”

Jon answered, pointing an index finger up at the sky without taking his eyes off her, “flying.”

The Princess’ eyebrows shot up in surprise as she bit her lower lip and inquired, “did you like it?”

“It’s alright,” Jon spoke quietly, averting his eyes, fiddling with the grass between them. “I see now why mum’s always warned me of the dangers of warging into birds. The freedom you feel up there is incredible.”

Raising his head slightly, Jon found Dany’s face mere inches away from his own; intelligent amethyst eyes brimmed with curiosity as they stared into his own azure coloured ones.

“Why is it dangerous?” The Princess breathed out her question as if uttering the words themselves was risky. 

“Because the freedom flying provides is potentially intoxicating. It can pull anyone deeper and deeper without realising. Wargs can become so caught up in the feeling that they can forget who they are; never returning to their human body again.”

Dany lunged at him, slamming his body onto the ground as she straddled his abdomen, keeping him pinned down by pressing her dainty palms on his shoulders.

“Jon,” —she hissed through clenched teeth— “don’t you _ever_ dare go anywhere I can’t follow!” Her eyes – suddenly darkened in colour – flashed with anger…and fear. “I’ll forbid it by royal decree if I must, Lord Dayne!”

“Never,” he whispered breathlessly. “I’d never leave you behind, Dany.”

She frowned at him. “You promise?”

“You have my word.”

She continued glaring at him, so, with a smirk playing on his face, Jon clarified teasingly, “doubled up on honour, remember?”

Next thing he knew Dany’s mouth was on his. So soft, so sweet, and so surprising he didn’t have time to understand what was happening before it was over. Gone too soon. 

Completely dumbfounded, he just laid there on the grass, paralysed, blinking up at the Princess. She, in turn, was staring down at him wide eyed, nervously nipping at her lower lip, a worried crease between her eyebrows. He could feel her small hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as she balled up her fists. That spurred him into action.

He shook his head slightly and took a deep breath – as deep as he could with the Princess sitting across his stomach. He gently unclutched her fists as he flashed her a confident smile and said, “mind if we try that again?”

Dany jerked forward but two hands pressed against her shoulders stopped her. Once again her beautiful amethyst eyes flashed with anger, hurt and confusion.

Moving his hands from her shoulders to carefully cradle her face, Jon looked deep into her eyes as he whispered, “easy Dany, I just told you I’m not going anywhere.”

Responding with a shy smile and a barely noticeable nod, Dany lowered her eyes to look at his lips as she slowly leaned down.

He lifted his head slightly off the ground and met her half way, tenderly pressing his lips against hers. This time Dany’s delectable lips felt even softer, sweeter than they had with that first rushed kiss. He wanted to – needed to – do this right.

Slowly, he opened his mouth slightly and timidly let his tongue run along Dany’s upper lip. He figured he must’ve done something right, because she responded by grasping his shirt collar and pulling him closer.

When Dany finally pulled back, they both gasped, staring at each other in awe. Jon had never seen a sweeter, more beautiful smile than the one she was wearing just then. Her heavenly eyes shone brighter than any star ever could, he was sure of it.

Breathless, Jon said “that was—"

“—wonderful,” Dany finished for him.

Smiling softly he could only respond by nodding. Blinking rapidly a few times, he muttered, “I have this…weak feeling in my knees.” 

“Is your heart beating strangely?”

“Mmhmm…faster, like I’ve been running.”

“Mine too,” she whispered brushing a tender hand through his dark curls. “Think we should just stay here for a bit.”

Dany positioned herself a little lower on his stomach as she leaned down to rest her dazed head on Jon’s narrow shoulder, placing a possessive hand over his rapidly beating heart.

Carefully, Jon wrapped his arms around her.

Uncle Oberyn always told him that love was like dancing – _relax, go with the flow and you’ll find a rhythm that matches the two of you together_. Jon wasn’t sure this could be compared to any kind of dancing he’d done, but if their matching heartbeats were any indication he’d say he and Dany had found their own unique rhythm. Gradually, he felt her breathing slow down as did his own.

“I like it here.” Dany’s quiet voice broke his musings. 

He chuckled, “good, it’s your home after all.”

“No, I mean,” she raised her head slightly and padded his shoulder with her hand, “I like it here,” before resting her head back down. 

“I like you here as well,” Jon confessed quietly resting a cheek against the top of her head.

Their peaceful little bubble was sadly burst when Ghost came running, joyously yapping at a hissing Bloodfyre who was flying just a few feet above the direwolf pup.

Dany shot up like a rocket. “Bloodfyre stop it! Behave!” The black and red dragon hissed and growled in response, yet still landed next to the silver-haired girl currently glaring at it.

Jon was amazed at how quickly the Princess transformed from the soft and tender girl he’d just had in his arms a few seconds ago, to this assertive dragon commander standing in front of him.

“Ghost, here!” The pup, a little more than a year old, obeyed his command without hesitation. “Maybe if he gets his tail zinged he’ll learn not to disturb a dragon,” Jon laughed, scratching the snow white direwolf behind its ear as he got back up on his feet.

Sitting next to her, Bloodfyre was exactly as tall as Dany. He was almost pitch-black with crimson red horns and spine, and spatters of red on his wings. At three, he was the youngest of the dragons currently residing on Dragonstone. The other dragons lived in and around Valyria where there was food and space available to them without the majestic creatures causing too much disturbance. However, despite being the younger – or perhaps because of it – Bloodfyre was the biggest drama queen; always making a big entrance hissing, screaming and growling, and spitting fire whenever he could get away with it. No hint of stealth – yet. He still curled up in Dany’s bed at night, but it’d be a matter of time before he’d have to stay on the floor, and in a few years he’d have to stay outside permanently.

She sent Jon an amused look before turning to Bloodfyre and speaking with more authority than he’d ever heard from her, “—and this guy needs to stop spitting fire at everyone and everything that he doesn’t like!”

Bloodfyre huffed and looked away – almost as if trying to give the impression that he wasn’t even paying attention. Jon knew from his mum’s stories from her years at Dragonstone, that dragons had very different personalities, just like humans, however, he never thought he’d find it this comical to see up close.

He bent down, picked up a stick and threw it as far as he could as Ghost was off in a jiffy to chase the stick - tail wagging and tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, but completely silent. Stealth.

Once again, Jon felt the humming, burning sensation in his mind. Stormcloud had been cruising the skies above them the whole time.

For a bit, he’d thought – and hoped – the buzzing in his head was from being close to Dany, but now he was almost certain it was exclusively due to the big dragon hovering above.

The few times Jon had been to Dragonstone before he’d of course seen Stormcloud around the island, admiring him from afar. He was a mighty and gorgeous beast; even looked like a storm cloud – blue coloured back, gradually turning a dark grey towards the dragon’s underside and wings. Jon had never been close to him though, and he’d never felt this observed and scrutinised either. He didn’t like the feeling.

It started after he had warged into Ghost this morning. Yesterday he’d spent the day making friends with the eagle, Storm – the great bird had told Jon he liked riding them so that’s what Jon had named him. In his sleep, he must’ve slipped into Ghost because in the early morning hours he’d been out by the dragons’ nests. He remembered the smell of burnt flesh and charred bones; definitely not a pleasant one. Moondancer hadn’t paid any attention to Ghost, but Stormcloud…he’d looked right at him. It had spooked both Jon and Ghost and the pup had quickly run back to the castle. When Jon woke the direwolf slept by his feet.

Having sent Bloodfyre off, Dany walked over to Jon again. Taking a step closer, she took one of his hands and sandwiched it between both of her smaller ones.

“Major Stark, Prince Oberyn, Mama and Papa talked to me yesterday, when you were out here by yourself.” 

Jon watched her stare at their hands, patiently waiting for her to continue.

“They asked me if I’d like to come travel with you and uncle Obi before I start attending school in King’s Landing next year.” She threw him a nervous glance before quickly adding, “just for a bit.”

He placed his other hand on top of hers and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“But..,” she sighed, “I wouldn’t be joining alone,” she added apologetically.

Jon leaned in and laid a tender kiss on her forehead before pulling her in for a hug. “Will Vizharo and Sir Jaime be joining us then?”

He could feel her nodding.

“Major Stark mentioned something about sending her second in command to join us in Pentos.” Her voice was muffled by his arm.

Trying to contain his excitement, Jon took a steadying breath before asking, “We’re going back to Essos?”

“Oberyn mentioned something about Meereen.”

“Have you ever been before?”

Dany shook her head slowly.

“I’m sure you’ll love it! You’ll love Captain Tarth as well – she’s great.” He laughed, “—and then you won’t have to be all alone with us guys.”

She laughed out loud, “that would’ve been awful!”

Before Jon could respond, there was a thunderous noise just above them as the ground started quaking. Looking behind him, he saw Stormcloud towering over them, eyes fixed squarely on him.

The enormous dragon tipped its head slightly from side to side and Jon knew he was being sized up – he just didn’t know what for or the reason behind it.

The buzzing in his head returned. It was as if he’d stuck his head inside a beehive. The heat was back too, making him feel like his head was burning from the inside out.

Letting go of Dany, he fell to his knees, clutching his head in his hands. “Argh!”

“Jon!” Dany shouted, worried. “HELP! SOMEBODY, HELP!” She yelled desperately, looking around.

Instantly, Vizharo came running full speed from behind a small hill. “Princess! What’s the matter?!”

“Find Major Stark. NOW!! And uncle Aemon!”

Vizharo was off immediately, bolting across the field to where Viserys’ funeral pyre had been.

Jon had now collapsed on the ground, writhing and screaming in pain with Dany helpless by his side.

As Jon opened his eyes, he saw a huge eye, blue as his own, looking directly at him. He thought he saw pain in it but maybe that had to do with the pain he was feeling himself – head to toe, inside out, like chains and ropes burning, tightening and pulling everywhere on his body and mind.

Stormcloud’s massive head was inching closer, examining the little screaming human.

And, as he blacked out from the pain, the dragon soared to the skies screeching and roaring in anguish and frustration – for the second time that day.

 


	2. This is the Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to check in to see what happened with Jon and Stormcloud. Maester Aemon, Lyanna Stark and Rhaella Targaryen have a long night with stories, heart-to-hearts and a few laughs shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!!! Sorry for the long wait. Stuff happened but and time seemed to pass by much too fast!
> 
> Big thanks to my Latino sis [Val](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValDeCastille/pseuds/ValDeCastille) for patiently going through this chapter as well as making the beautiful mood board. Love ya, sis! <3 <3 <3

 

 

 

** Dragonstone **

 

The castle was quiet. Outside, a storm brewed. In the distance, faint calls of an eagle could be heard. Inside, the fire in the hearth bathed the room in a soft golden light. Between the bed and the fireplace, positioned in a large plush chair, the eldest member of the Targaryen clan sat watch.

The old Maester was pondering the day’s events. Not the Prince’s funeral; that had been as subdued as expected. No, it was what had occurred afterwards that occupied his mind. If what he suspected had happened was true, then he still couldn’t quite believe it himself.

They’d all heard Stormcloud’s mournful screech and rushed outside to see what was happening. By then, the dragon had already taken to the skies again, doing rounds of desperate loops high up in the air.

The Maester was used to receiving puzzled looks when speaking of dragons as expressive beings. However, after a long life of working with them he’d learned that the creatures had a variety of flips, turns and loops depending on their mood - much like dogs ran in a happy, frightened or angry way and cats made playful and angry japs.

It wasn’t immediately clear that something was amiss. Not until Vizharo’s little figure had appeared storming across the field towards the castle at such a speed one would’ve thought he was half horse himself. Sir Jaime had hurried down to him trying to decipher what the child was yelling about. Just then, they all saw Aerys come, running, bearing a lifeless Jon in his arms while a crying Dany clung onto Lyanna. The sight had prompted both Rhaegar and Oberyn to jump the balustrade racing to meet the King and the Major.

Once inside, the King had rushed Jon to a bedroom within the royal wing –the same room he always used whenever he visited Dragonstone–, Aemon and Oberyn bustling in after him.

To everyone’s relief, the old Maester and the Dornish Prince - with half a Maester’s degree, had quickly established that the little Lord didn’t have any injuries. However, the boy being unresponsive was a cause for concern.

Meanwhile, Rhaella and Lyanna had been trying to make sense of Dany’s distraught babble. Through an almost endless stream of tears and gasps, the Major had managed to work out  enough words for her to cast the old Maester a worried look as the Queen gently rocked her little daughter who was curled up in her lap, the sobbing slowly subsiding.

Out on the balcony, Rhaegar had had his hands full as he attempted to calm down the fiery Bloodfyre who naturally responded to Dany’s emotional distress. Luckily, as the Princess seemed to calm down, so did the dragon, prompting Rhae to step aside and let the little hothead inside. While side-eyeing him, Bloodfyre nonchalantly walked past the Prince and crossed the room to where Dany and Rhaella sat by the hearth. As the dragon carefully nuzzled his snout against Dany, the Queen reached out and stroked him along the neck earning her a purr as reward.

With a crooked smile on his face and shaking his head, Rhae followed closely behind Bloodfyre, clearly amused by the dragon’s antics. He leaned down and whispered something in Dany’s ear before giving his little sister a long, affectionate kiss atop her silver-blond head.

“Will Lord Dayne be alright?” Vizharo’s boyish voice sounded from the doorway. An anxious look in his hazel brown eyes. Standing between Sir Jaime and Princess Elia, he’d quietly watched everything.

“Maester Aemon and my brother have done everything they can, and look how calm they are.” Elia had an arm lovingly wrapped around the boy’s shoulders as she spoke. “I have faith that Jon will be well again very soon.”

“He’ll be fine,“ Oberyn spoke up, “he just needs a good night’s rest – and so do you, young man.” The Dornish Prince winked at the little bloodrider.

“—but I’m not tired, Sir,” he protested, whipping his eyes up at Sir Jaime.

The Lannister knight had a slight smile on his lips as he asked, “what’s one of the most important abilities in a guard, Vizharo?”

“Being alert at all times, Sir.”

“What’s one of the best ways to stay alert?”

“By being—,” the boy averted his eyes to the floor as he sheepishly finished his answer, “—well rested, Sir.”  

Tussling the Dothraki’s hair, Jaime smirked and said, “I’ve got the nightshift, junior. Off to bed you go.”

“C’mon, I’ll follow you to your room,” Oberyn stood in front of them now, “and I’ll answer all your questions about tonight on our way there.”

Vizharo nodded eagerly at that. He dipped his head to the King and Queen and turned to walk down the hallway with Oberyn.

“Vizharo!”

His black braids cut through the air as his head snapped around to the authoritative voice calling for him.

“Thank you. You did good today.” Lyanna raised her right hand and waited for Vizharo to respond. When he understood what she wanted, he smiled and slapped his own palm against hers.

“If it wasn’t for you I don’t know what would’ve happened. The Princess would have certainly not left my son’s side.”

“A-anytime, Major.”

Answering with a warm smile, Lyanna leaned in slightly, “now go to bed, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” The Dothraki boy turned on his heels and left with Oberyn whom he immediately started bombarding with questions.

“I believe that’s our cue as well, darling.” Elia held a hand out towards Rhaegar, with her other hand resting on her protruding pregnant belly. “I’m sorry, but I’d really like to get off my feet.”

Chuckling, Aerys shooed his son and daughter-in-law out the door. “Go put your feet up, dear. You deserve it.”

As it turned out, Lyanna’s previous assessment had been correct; Daenerys refused to leave Jon for the night – to no one’s surprise, so the King and Queen agreed to let her sleep at his side when they retired to their own rooms.

Looking at the company currently occupying the large bed, the old Maester felt his heart swelling with affection. Jon laid resting on his back - thankfully finally looking at ease - with a stretched out Ghost right beside him. On his other side, Dany slept heavily, glued to him with a hand on his chest and her head resting against his shoulder. Finally, by the edge of the bed, Bloodfyre had curled up against Dany, tail wrapped around both children and reaching all the way to Ghost’s hind legs. The two creatures effectively encased the Princess and the little Lord in a protective shield of lethal fire and deadly fangs, deviously hidden behind shiny red-black scales and white fluffy fur.

“Good thing Targaryens like big beds,” Lyanna sniggered as she took a seat on a footstool by the hearth.

“Naturally,” the old Prince jested back. “We need room for the dragons.”

“—and other living beings it seems.”

“Only a select few, dear one.”

“Mmm…speaking of which, do you remember when they were babies and Ash used to place Jon in Dany’s crib?”

“Yes, I remember it vividly.” The old Maester chuckled as he recalled the memory. “The little Princess had been fussing like she always did when tucked into bed. We’d tried so many different things and none of them worked. Then, on your first visit to see Daenerys - a few months after her birth - Ashara took one look into the bassinet and said, ‘she doesn’t like being alone’. She grabbed Jon from the Queen’s embrace and placed him in the cradle next to the Princess—”

“—and five minutes later both were fast asleep with Jon having a small protective arm across Dany’s chubby baby belly.”

They both laughed quietly remembering the surprised looks on the King and Queen’s faces.

“Whenever the two of them are in the same place, they’ve continually managed to find their way to each other’s beds ever since.” The old Targaryen tittered as he continued. “Without meaning to, I think your wife forged an unbreakable bond between the two all those years ago.”

“Well, you know Ash – always building bridges wherever she goes.” Lyanna sent her old friend a proud smile before turning slightly to tend to the fire.

“Your son certainly has a calming effect on the Princess’ fiery temper.”

The Major snorted, “if only he had the same effect on his little sister.”

Shaking his head in amusement, the old Maester turned his attention to the cat purring contently in his lap.

Bagheera was a big black beauty – and he knew it; short, shiny, thick fur and gorgeous yellow eyes. Confident, intelligent and patient. Very caring, very playful and very protective. Basically, a four-legged, furry version of the human he’d replaced as the Princess’ sleeping buddy the first few years of her life. Bagheera also held the honour of being one of very few animals Bloodfyre respected, if not feared.

When the dragon had been very young, barely able to create a spark of his own, he’d been foolish enough to provoke Bagheera. The affair had turned into a hissing contest which the cat eventually won when he flung his paw right in the dragon’s face, and managed to scratch the still leathery-soft scales on Bloodfyre’s snout, leaving the dragon with a bloody nose and wounded pride. Even in present day, when Bloodfyre could easily scorch the cat, it took solely one look from Bagheera to stop the youngest dragon in his tracks.

Prince Aemon felt blessed by the cat’s affection gradually gravitating towards the eldest Targaryen as he himself got older. The furry feline would still spend a lot of time with the Princess, yet he seemed to prefer the Maester’s company particularly at night-time. Bagheera had also been the first clue that the young Lord Dayne could warg like his mother. The old Prince could still recall how surprised he’d been when he’d realised Bagheera was looking back at him with blue eyes instead of his usual yellow ones.

Jon was barely four at the time and both of his mothers had been utterly surprised by his abilities showing so early. Thus, despite his tender age, they’d agreed together with the old Maester to begin his training. Abilities like warging needed precise training in order for the warger to properly control it and hone it.

The ancient Dornish houses of Martell and Dayne had a tradition of teaching their children meditation from a young age. They believed training the mind to be equally important as training the body; both being one side of the same coin that shaped the best warriors. For the Starks, training their various degrees of warging abilities started by teaching children through guided imagery - sort of like daydreaming but with closed eyes, until they were allowed to warg while awake. However, no living Stark had been known to warg, even in their sleep, at such a young age as Jon had been then.

Ashara had suggested teaching him meditation first, thinking it would be safer as the boy most likely wasn’t aware that he warged in his sleep. In addition, there was the fact that Lyanna was back home in Winterfell, grumpy as her commanding officer had commissioned  her with plenty of desk duties because she was pregnant – thus not around to initiate Jon into the beauty of warging. Yet.

So, taking the opportunity while on Dragonstone, Lady Ashara Dayne had carefully begun teaching her young son the wonders of meditation, and it wasn’t until after Arya’s birth that Lyanna had started her warg coaching with Jon whilst Ashara added martial arts to his training programme.

Almost nine years later, the Targaryen Maester was astonished by the results so far. Jon had arrived together with Prince Oberyn a day ahead of Major Stark, giving the Maester amble opportunity to observe the young Lord’s growth who found the subtlety of it almost fascinating.

As expected of a young Lord, Jon had impeccable manners; he was polite, eloquent and charming. However, the boy had always been helpful, humble and inquisitive, so hearing him enquire about a variety of subjects was considered the norm. What had taken the old Prince by surprise was _where_ he had found the little Lord earlier that day.

The Prince himself was usually up with the sun to go check on the dragons. Out by one of the age old trees, he passed by Jon meditating by himself. A while later, as the Maester returned to the castle, he’d caught Jon practising his spear drills and had concluded that Jonathan Stark Dayne was the most disciplined adolescent he’d ever had the privilege of knowing.

In addition, something that  struck the Maester as a strange habit was the manner in which the little Lord greeted animals. Jon would gently touch his forehead against that of the animal and briefly close his eyes.

He had observed him do it to a couple of horses in the royal stables, to some sheep grazing on the hillside, and even to a large crab down on the beach until he realised what Jon was actually doing. He remembered Lyanna doing something similar, especially with horses, when she and her brothers first arrived at Dragonstone twenty years ago. However, bearing in mind the little Lord’s young age, he could grow to become a very strong warg – and as usual, there were forces in the world who considered such abilities dangerous.  

Aemon thought back to how he’d seen Jon connect with an eagle the day before the funeral. The eagle had been hunting and, for some unknown reason, had charged at Jon, but the boy hadn’t moved an inch. He’d stood his ground. The bird had landed a few feet away, wings spread out, posturing. Even so, Jon had kept still.

The Maester had observed the encounter with eager interest, examining Jon whose eyes never closed and face never paled. Not until--

“—Lya my dear, do you know if Jon and Stormcloud touched each other in any way?”

Lyanna looked up, eyes blinking rapidly, brows furrowed in thought.

“No, not at this time, Uncle. Until he – or Dany – wakes up we have no way of knowing what really happened out there today.”

Staring back into the flames Lyanna quietly continued her speech..

“Stormcloud. Warging. Flying. Screaming. Those were the only words I managed to understand from Dany. She kept repeating them until Rhaella was able to calm her down. I’m unsure of the proper order though. The poor thing choked on almost every word she attempted to speak.”

The old Maester could practically hear the wheels turning inside the Major’s head.

With an alarmed expression on her face, she looked up at her old teacher, “you don’t think—”

“—no, Lya, trust your son. Jon knows his limits. He wouldn’t break a sacred law like that; wouldn’t even entertain the idea.”

The Major took a long, deep breath to steady herself. “I must admit it’s difficult to stay completely detached when the matter concerns one’s child.”

“Good.” The Maester gifted her a reassuring smile, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Now go rest, my wolf. It’ll be awhile before the children wake up.”

 

\----------

 

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” Lyanna flashed the Queen an amused smirk as soon as she’d set foot in the room.

“Oh hush!” The Queen chided. “I’ve brought hot cocoa for us.”

Lyanna snorted, “Rhaella, I’m not 14 anymore.”

The Queen raised an eyebrow in question.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to comfort me.”

“I’m sure _the Major_ is perfectly fine. _Lyanna_ on the other hand…,” she trailed off letting her insinuation hang in the air, though a smile played on the Queen’s face as she sent the Stark woman a pointed look.

Lyanna resigned with a heavy sigh, accepting the mug of cocoa her long-time friend offered her.

The Queen took a seat in the large, Targaryen-red velvet chair by the hearth, internally laughing a little at how typical it was for Lyanna Stark to leave such a chair vacant even when alone. In doing so, she avoided the awkwardness of having to move if a superior showed up while, on the other hand, she was  able to give the honours to an inferior. Rhaella had convinced herself that that kind of behaviour was, most likely, inserted in the DNA that gave form to the Starks for she’d never seen or heard anyone inculcating such modesty into their children. It somehow  happened naturally.

Personally, Rhaella despised the use of the terms ‘superior’ and ‘inferior’ – she found it disrespectful and degrading, however, when she had first met the Stark children a couple of decades ago, she had soon discovered they solely used it to express rank, specifically military rank.

As Royalty, the Targaryens outranked everyone in Westeros, and the Starks of course treated them accordingly, but Rhaella hadn’t had much contact with them prior to the family moving to Dragonstone. What had struck her, though, was how their military education affected their interactions with everyone around them.

Because they were only between eight and sixteen at the time, they obviously didn’t hold a rank themselves, so instead they followed what they called ‘civilian seniority’ – a Stark term she’d become very familiar with through the years – which enclosured  Eddard, Lyanna and Benjen.

That way of looking at things transferred into how they treated others, from the King and Queen to the kitchen maids and stable boys and everyone in between. As such, the simple gesture of relinquishing a ‘seat of honour’ to an individual who considered him- or herself to be inferior to a Lord or Lady became much more important. The Starks didn’t regard themselves ‘above’ others but simply as humans who had been lucky enough to be born into an affluent family. For many ‘commoners’, it was a surprise to encounter Lords and Ladies who truly saw them as individuals and not just inferiors who had to ‘make way’ and ‘obey’.

On the other hand, as Queen, Rhaella had often found that she could cause offence if she didn’t accept the offers from her _‘subjects’_ –another word she despised. When they offered her a luxurious seat or a grand meal, they’d think it unfit for her standards if she declined. Truthfully though, she found the ones that “failed” the most endearing, because she admired and appreciated their efforts more than the results.

As Queen, she accepted her role albeit feeling slightly envious of the Starks who were able  to do what they did.

The main reason the Starks focused so heavily on rank was the heartfelt pride they held for their House’s military history, so it was tradition for Stark children to enter the armed forces.

The sons and daughters of the old noble houses of Westeros all followed the same path: first stop, Westeros International School of Education with base in King’s Landing, then off to the Lion Academy of Military Excellence located in Lannisport where they’d all graduate with the rank of 2nd Lieutenant.

However, unlike the rest who’d use their nobility privileges  to simply stay in the reserves and continue on with their jet-set lifestyles, the Starks almost without exception went into active duty in one of the many military branches.

Both Lyanna and Benjen had diverted from this path. She’d gone to Braavos to train with the Faceless Men, becoming an intelligence gathering expert, and Benjen went directly to the Night’s Watch’s Rangers School at Castle Black, joining the ranks of one of the world’s best special forces – the other being the Unsullied in Essos. Meanwhile, Eddard had stepped in his duty as Duke of Winterfell without the usual Stark military education, which led to endearing sibling teasing. 

Ned had had difficulty adjusting to the rank of Lord and everyone giving way for him. So whenever Lya or Ben visited Winterfell, he’d enjoy seeing them take his seat at the head of the table because ‘I don’t see any insignia on your shoulder, big brother’ and they’d all laugh.

When she and her husband would visit as personal guests, not as King and Queen, Aerys would always sit at the head of the table because he knew it made Ned relax, despite,  under normal circumstances, it would have to be Ned heading the table at his own home.

Looking over at Lyanna, the Queen found the younger woman staring into the flames, seemingly lost in thought.

“I know the burden of wearing more than one mask, Lyanna. You’re safe here, don’t hide from me.”

The Major turned her head slightly, quickly glancing at the bed before turning back and staring at the fire once more.

“I can’t look at them, Rhaella. It feels like I’m intruding.”

Rhaella suppressed a laugh. When she and Lyanna had attempted to console Daenerys, her daughter had confessed that she’d kissed the young Lord Dayne. The two women had shared an amused look before quickly assuring Dany that she was not at fault for what had happened to Jon. Apparently, that had been the main cause of her inconsolability, and soon after the Princess slowly had begun to calm down. 

“They’re children, Lyanna. It was just an innocent kiss.”

“They’re not just _any_ children, Rhaella,” sad dark grey eyes found her own violet ones, “for them there’ll never be such a thing as an ‘innocent’ kiss.”

Now it was the Queen’s turn to sigh and nod. “I wish they didn’t have to grow up so quickly.”

“We all do. Wish I could tuck them both away in my arms a little longer.”

The room fell silent again. The only sounds heard came from the crackling fire and the light snores of Maester Aemon sleeping on the couch at the other end of the room. Outside, the sun was slowly beginning to make its ascend on the morning sky. 

“By the way, thank you for letting the Princess join Jon and Oberyn on their visit to Meereen,” the Queen spoke quietly.

Lyanna sent her friend a heartfelt smile, “wasn’t my decision alone.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Rhaella smiled back, “but only you know the real reason.”

The Major gave a curt nod. “Though I think Oberyn has his suspicions—"

“—of course he does.” The Queen huffed dryly and after a deep breath she added, “I think we should brief him and Sir Jaime. They need to know what they’re taking on and potentially walking into.”

“Agreed, Your Majesty.”

“Oh stop it!” The Queen waved her hand at the Major, making Lyanna chuckle.

“I admit it’s a convenient opportunity for me to send in another pair of eyes.”

Giving a confident smile Rhaella said, “with Prince Oberyn, Sir Jaime, Vizharo, Jon, as well as your Captain Tarth, my daughter will be very well protected.”

“It isn’t her _current_ safety in Meereen that worries me, Rhaella,” Lyanna replied through clenched teeth sending her confidant a dark look.

The Queen knew all too well what the Major was referring to, but didn’t get a chance to respond before a childish voice interrupted them..

“Mum?”

“Jon!”

Lyanna jumped to her feet so quickly the footstool she’d been sitting on fell over with a bang and woke up everyone else in the room, even causing Sir Jaime to rush in to see what was happening.

While Lyanna hastily tended to her son, the Queen wordlessly let Jaime know that everything was alright and that he could return to his spot outside the door.

Both Ghost and Bloodfyre had shot up at the sudden noise. The wolf stood at the edge of the bed snarling while Bloodfyre was right behind him hissing and growling. The Queen appreciated the protective nature of both, however at the moment she admittedly found it a bit inconvenient. She and Aemon managed to relatively easily calm the young animals who both settled back down  - with a disinterested Bagheera looking on from the couch.

The Major held her son in a tight embrace, peppering  kisses over his cheeks and curly-haired head as Daenerys looked around dazed and confused from the abrupt disturbance. Lyanna then leaned over and kissed the Princess on the forehead, gently stroking her silver mane to let her know there was no cause for concern.

“I’m so sorry, mum.” Jon’s muffled voice broke the silence.

Lyanna leaned back, releasing Jon from her embrace. Rhaella, now cuddling Dany, could see brave tears rolling down the boy’s cheeks.

“Oh, sugarplum, it’s ok,” Lyanna gave her son a tender kiss on his left temple, wiping his tears away with her thumbs. “Just tell us what happened.”

So he did. Jon spoke of how he’d said hello to the horses in the stable, the sheep on the hill, the crab on the beach, the fish he’d accidentally stepped on, the squirrel that’d been spooked by his spear, about Storm and how the eagle had shared the joy of flying with him.

Rhaella noticed Lyanna’s brows furrowing slightly at the mentioning of flying. The Queen didn’t know much about warging - it was a _Stark thing_ the same way dragons were a _Targaryen thing_.

She’d always believed the Starks had the right not to share information about the subject, and she’d never  wanted to intrude. When needing advice, they’d sought Maester Aemon who, as an outsider, had done his best to help. However, she’d always been amazed by how easy –especially– Lyanna had made it look, and the Queen had been informed by  Aemon that the young Lord Dayne, as his mother, was very gifted at warging. A fact she and Ashara struggled to keep hidden as it’d otherwise turn the boy into a target.

Jon continued speaking about how he’d warged into Ghost at night and visited the dragons’ nests. He described every scent, sight and sound,  so vividly and with so much detail that the Queen found herself being embarrassed that she’d never before realised what warging truly entailed; it wasn’t only a matter of entering the mind of a different being – it was a matter of _becoming_ that being while also having all your human memories and knowledge left intact. At the realisation, it finally dawned on her why some would regard such abilities as dangerous – and how others could use it as a weapon. 

She wished Ashara and Lyanna had briefed the King and herself although she understood why they’d kept such sensitive information to themselves; after all, it was the safest way. However, now that both Dany and Jon would be travelling to Meereen, added to what had unfolded between the two, Lyanna’s hesitation became even more well founded. Of course much would transpire over the next decade and their concerns may prove to be completely baseless, yet the Queen knew that Lyanna had an eerie talent for reading events and people almost too well.

Instantly, Rhaella understood that protecting Daenerys _and_ Jon was of utmost importance, not just as a mother but as a Queen. Any harm coming to either or both of the children could result in irreversible consequences.

“—and then he opened his eyes and looked directly at me, well, at Ghost, but me as Ghost.” Jon’s voice interrupted the Queen’s musings.

“We know what you mean, sweetie,” Lyanna stroked her son’s hair out of his face. “Go on.”

“The next day, I mean, yesterday, when I was flying with Storm I felt something warm in my mind, in my head.” He sighed, shook his head and slumped back against the headboard of the bed.

“It’s ok, honey, just describe it as best you can.” Lyanna scooted up next to her son and pulled him in for another hug as Daenerys reached out for his hand and said, “you’re safe here, don’t hide from us.”

Rhaella met Lyanna’s eyes, both smiling, hearing the Princess echoing her mother’s words to the Major earlier that morning.

Jon looked down at Dany’s hand, stroking it with his thumb as he began speaking again. “It felt like a rope being tied around my mind. Like when you have a headache but a thousand times worse. It burned like a wildfire, and it kept getting hotter, spreading all over my body which stiffened with each moment that went by. I think that’s when Stormcloud landed.”

“He landed? Close to you?” Rhaella exclaimed, surprised.

Dany nodded emphatically. “Yes, he landed right behind Jon.” She paused as if replaying it in her head. “He didn’t make his usual soft gliding landing. He just landed hard on the ground right behind Jon and I as if he’d jumped out of the sky.”

The Queen had never seen or heard of Stormcloud behaving in such a fashion. She looked to Lyanna and then to the old Maester who motioned for Jon to continue.

“The last thing I remember is how it felt like I was tied in chains and ropes, being pulled and twisted. Burning everywhere, like my body was inside a fire. That’s when Stormcloud stuck his face down towards me. He looked me directly in the eye. After that everything is black.”

The little Lord looked uncertain, avoiding eye contact.

Daenerys squeezed his hand bringing out a small shy smile on his face.

“Thank you for telling us, Jon.” The Queen stroked his curly hair. “We’re relieved to see you’re ok. We were very worried.”

“Thank you, Your Maje—”

“—ah ah!” The Queen held up a hand to stop him; making Dany chuckle.

“—Rhaella. Thank you, Rhaella.”

They were interrupted by Aemon who had moved from the plush chair and joined them on the bed.

“You said he looked at you at night when you warged into Ghost?”

Jon nodded.

“Was he around when you were with the eagle, with Storm, the other day?”

They all looked expectantly at Jon who took his time to think back.

“Maybe. Earlier he had been out over the water fishing alongside Moondancer.”

The little Lord started fidgeting with his hands and his eyes darting around the room.

Lyanna put her index finger under Jon’s chin and gently lifted his face to meet his eyes.

“Sweetheart, I promise no one here thinks you did anything wrong. We’re simply trying to understand what happened.”

Jon nodded again, gifting his mother a wobbly smile which she replied with another tender kiss to his forehead.

Leaning back, Lyanna asked, “did you touch Stormcloud?”

“No! I wouldn’t dare to go near him, not even try. Never, mum!” The boy looked horrified by the thought.

The Major nodded in approval. Rhaella wasn’t surprised to see the fear in Jon’s eyes at the suggestion, after all, that was the response  most had towards dragons – awe and fear. 

Maester Aemon  sat  at the edge of the bed deep in thought. No living person knew more about dragons than the eldest Targaryen. Every currently living dragon, whether on Dragonstone or in Valyria, had at some point in their life been in his capable care. The Queen hoped he could help solve this mystery.

“Jon, do you know why it’s forbidden to warg into dragons or other humans?”

They all stared at the Maester. That was not a question anyone had expected.

The little Lord looked shocked. He tried moving back but was already sitting up against the headboard, trapped.

“I swear I didn’t do that! Mum, please! I’d never do that. I promise.” He broke down sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Lyanna pulled her heartbroken son into a hug, gently rocking him from side to side.

“Uncle Aemon knows that, sugarplum, but I think he’s trying to tell you - and all of us - something.” She kissed the big black curly mop on her son’s head.

Meanwhile Dany had leaned back against Rhaella and given her mother a worried look.

“He’ll be alright, pumpkin. Let Lyanna take care of him for now,” the Queen whispered as she kissed Dany’s chubby little cheek.

After Jon had calmed down  and had a sip of water offered to him by the old Maester, he answered the question.

“Because it is ethically and morally wrong to enter into another person’s mind as it violates their privacy and free will, and can be used to control and manipulate. Dragons are very intelligent beings, possibly even more so than humans, thus are considered off limits for wargs for the same reason.”

“Very well answered, Lord Dayne.” Aemon smiled approvingly, “with everything you’ve told us I think we’ve looked at this the wrong way. I think Stormcloud has been observing you closely the past couple of days.”

Lyanna gasped. Then, with a look of awe she turned from Aemon to Jon and said, “Stormcloud was reaching out to you. _He_ was trying to communicate with _you_.”


	3. A Wise Wolf Hides His Fangs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for us to meet Ashara - professor, mother, wife.  
> Later we check in with our fav kiddos in Meereen where Jon finds himself in a bit of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again a big thank you to two amazing people for helping me work through some bits (Shawn) and polishing this chapter (Val). Love ya both!
> 
> Also a big shoutout to Val for the beautiful moodboard <3

  

**Qohor**

The clicks of her heels against the marble tiles echoed through the grand hall of Qohor University’s age-old administration building. Stretching the length of the hall was a stunningly beautiful glass mosaic ceiling; a tranquil portrait of trees, flowers and animals. An array of colours danced in the sunbeams shining through and spilled onto the floor displaying a blurry mirror version of the images above – like drops of watercolour playing on the surface of a lake.

Ashara walked with determination ignoring all the lustful looks cast her way; killing the urge to roll her eyes yet made no attempt at hiding the smirk on her face. Most days her outfits were casual. Today though she’d decided to turn it up a notch - black stilettos, black pencil skirt, purple silk blouse with her luscious long black hair in a single, simple braid down her back, glasses and her trusty black leather briefcase in hand. All in all what Lya referred to as a ‘naughty librarian’ outfit. Ash had no care for the eyes currently watching her intently save for  the hungry look in her she-wolf’s eyes the colour of thunderclouds which had the ability to rock her world.

Crossing the doorway making her way to the impressive stone staircase outside the university, a voice called out to her.

“Professor Dayne?”

“Yes?”

As she continued walking she cast a quick glance in the direction of the voice catching a look at the face; Mavar, a tall slender light-haired Lysene student jogged in her direction.

“Hey, can I talk to you about my thesis?”

“Sure; during office hours.”

“Yeah, your office hours don't really work for me,” the young man responded trying to sound smooth.

Ashara couldn’t hold back her disbelieving laugh, “sorry to hear that.”

She continued down the staircase - weaving through groups of students chatting on the steps - Mavar in tow, still attempting to argue his case to the Professor.

“Thing is, I don't really want to write about the Old Tongue.”

“You're aware the class is called ‘Endangered Languages & Cultural Loss’?”

“Yeah, but I feel like there aren’t really that many people speaking it.”

“Which is why it’s an _‘endangered language’_ , Mavar,” she retorted dryly.

“Thing is, my theory is that something similar is happening with the Summer Tongue.”

“All right,” she said evenly, “compare and contrast between the two and convince me.”

Having made it all the way down the stairs, Ashara headed towards the black luxury SUV parked at the curb.

“Great!” Her student was clearly relieved yet pressed on with another plea, “I'll also need an extension; my parents are coming to town and they're very needy.”

Professor Dayne stopped abruptly by the side of the vehicle causing Mavar to almost bump into her as she turned to face him.

Mirroring his sigh of relief from before, she smiled patiently and said, “my wife bought tickets to the opera this weekend. I mean, normally, I love the opera, but I got to tell you, it's been a hell of a week, and sitting in a dimly lit room with a bunch of people singing at me in Volanteen it's just going to make me fall asleep.”

Mavar gave her a blank stare, brow slightly furrowed in confusion.

“Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought we were telling each other our problems,” Ashara clarified sarcastically.

She opened the door of the car and placed her briefcase on the passenger seat. Closing the door again she turned back to face Mavar now staring at her in disbelief.

Smiling sweetly she said, “no extension.” Her firm tone of voice leaving no room for further arguments.

“Enjoy your parents!” She quipped as she walked round the hood of the car and climbed in,  leaving a disappointed student behind.

Making her way through rush-hour traffic, Ash smiled to herself humming along to the music playing on the radio. Whenever possible, Lya would be the one to drop off their daughter at school in the morning while Ash would pick her up in the afternoon. It was one of Ashara’s favourite times of the day and today was no exception. She already knew she’d miss it terribly in a few years’ time when Arya would join Jon and Oberyn on their travels.

Both her and Lyanna had made sure Oberyn understood – by way of spoken and unspoken threats - that he was being entrusted not just gold, but something more akin to Valyrian steel. Not only were Jon and Arya scions of two ancient houses, they were practically walking, talking miracles. They were both results of highly advanced medical technology; in vitro gametogenesis or, in short, IVG - a way to turn any cell in the human body into sperm or egg cells thus making the two Stark Dayne children biologically _both_ Ashara and Lyanna’s. Depending on which side of the Narrow Sea you’d ask it’d be talked about as magic, technological advancement, or sorcery.

Their families, the little they had at the time, had been almost as excited as Lyanna and her when they announced Ashara’s pregnancy. She’d been so happy and proud, loved the idea of this magical little bean growing inside her – but she’d hated being pregnant. Her body had not responded well to it. It wasn’t ‘just’ morning sickness – it was round the clock sickness which had only mildly improved in the last month of the pregnancy.

It had come to a point where she couldn’t stand the smell, taste or even the thought of food. Despite her objections, Lyanna had insisted on taking a leave of absence from her stationing at Sunspear and moved to Starfall to take care of Ashara the last trimester and with her she’d brought Prince Doran’s personal Maester to help provide the best care possible. Lyanna had begged Ash to have some food - _‘please my love, anything - it doesn’t matter, just please eat something. Please...’_ – choking on the words, tears swimming in those beautiful grey eyes of hers. The memories still sent chills down Ashara’s spine.

Despite finally managing to slowly eat again in the last month or so of her pregnancy, Ashara ended up losing close to 10 kilos. It took her body the better part of a year to recover. The silver-lining of course was Jon himself. Born at Starfall in the early morning hours, a healthy, beautiful, chubby babe; black hair and olive coloured skin like his Mama, azure blue eyes with a dark grey edge only the ones closest to him notice.

Winterfell, as well as the whole of Dorne, had celebrated his arrival as a new generation at Starfall had been secured. To his Mama and Mum, though, he was simply their quiet little sand-wolf.

Four years later, Lyanna had carried and delivered baby Arya. The pregnancy had been as smooth as sailing on a sunny day, one every pregnant woman could possibly hope for. With an almost angry cry Arya had entered the world on a clear, cold starry night in Winterfell. Another healthy, beautiful, chubby infant joining the little Stark Dayne family. Dark brown hair and pale skin like her Mum, light grey eyes with flickers of purple that sparkled like lightning when angry - which usually meant several times a day. Their little wild sand-wolf did not make herself go unnoticed. Once again, Winterfell and Dorne had celebrated for days.

As soon as Ashara stepped into the iron-gated school yard, a little wild-haired girl came flying out the door, running as fast as her little legs could carry her, backpack bouncing on her back with each step.

“Mama!” With a big grin plastered on her dirt-covered face, Arya jumped into her Mama’s loving embrace, receiving a big wet kiss on her soft cheek.

“Did you have fun today, honeybun?” Ash asked as they walked to the car parked just outside the gates.

Nodding eagerly, Arya shrugged the backpack off her shoulders and shoved it onto the backseat.

“We invented a new game today!” She said enthusiastically as she climbed into the backseat.

Ashara helped buckle her into the racing-car style harness. “Hold that thought, love.”

With a quick peck on her daughter’s temple, she closed the door, walked round the back of the car, got into the driver’s seat, and cruised into more rush-hour traffic for the short ride home.

“Ok, sweetheart, tell me about this new game of yours.” Smiling, she cast a quick glance in the rear-view mirror catching Arya’s beaming eyes, bracing herself for the upcoming daredevil story.

“On the swings you go up, up, _up!_ As high as you can.” Arya was quite animated as she recounted the tale to her Mama; swinging her arms and legs in the air as if still on the swing back in the playground. “—and then you jump! As far into the sandpit as you can. Longest jump wins!” She lifted her arms in victory.

Ashara chuckled at her daughter’s excitement. “Sounds like a really fun game, honeybun.”

“Wanna try?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely!”

“Language Mama!” Arya wiggled her index finger and scowled, doing her best to impersonate being told off by one of her mothers, but she couldn’t hold it for long before bursting with laughter.

Ash laughed too, “Sorry, hon. I’ll put some coins in the swear jar when we get home. I promise,” she winked back at her daughter still bubbling with laughter in the backseat. “Think Mum wants to try as well?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s ask her when she gets back, yeah?”

If not for the harness holding her down, Arya would’ve started jumping with joy right then and there, buzzing with excitement.

Located along the bank of the Qhoyne, hidden behind the busy main roads running through the city like arteries, a very old neighbourhood with a rich history - some parts dating back as far as the Century of Blood - provided a peaceful environment for its residents. These days, past and present mingled seamlessly in colourful, maze-like streets, where hipster coffee-shops and designer boutiques sat next to traditional tea gardens and tradesmen’s workshops.

In Qohor, this was the neighbourhood the Stark Dayne family called ‘home’. All the neighbours knew each other and helped each other out with big and small matters. Children were allowed to run around, playing in the streets until supper time even when they ran far away from their own house. People in the neighbourhood often were  suspicious of outsiders, though, if one was friendly and showed interest in them, it was most likely they’d reciprocate.

Ashara manoeuvred her black SUV effortlessly through the narrow streets, passing by known faces and shops.

When they had initially moved to Qohor, the Faceless Men had assigned Lyanna a house in one of the many gated communities, however both her and Ash had argued that being in an inconspicuous neighbourhood like this where everyone knew each other would be safer. Of course the house had been upgraded to have the newest state-of-the-art security systems as well as a few handpicked Unsullied guards round-the-clock. All of this had been done while increasing the City Guard’s presence in the neighbourhood as well - something the locals much appreciated.

Lyanna had been angry at the fact that it’d taken a VIP like herself to move there before the City Council took interest in the area -- and she suspected the interest and protection  would fade away the minute her and Ash left the city again which they inevitably would have to do at some point. To counter that, Lya had quietly had their own guards train the locals in various self-defence techniques. If the City Council wouldn’t help, she’d make sure they’d be able to help themselves if and when needed. Ash smiled to herself as she drove– taking interest in the well-being of others was Lya in a nutshell.

A trait both their sand-wolves had inherited; Jon, like his Mum, would physically protect, guard and shield people – Arya would too, but she’d use other sneakier methods. They had recently discovered that their daughter was essentially the brains behind an underground lunch-pack charity at school. Unlike Jon, who had thrived at Qohor’s prestigious private school with its severe discipline and strict uniform code, they knew it’d  be too constraining for Arya, so they’d enroll her at the local public school – where not everyone could afford to buy lunch or bring any from home.

It turned out that Arya was spending her weekly allowance  buying leftover food from the local baker and fruit vendor. And, together with their sons Hot Pie and Lommy, she’d pack little brown-paper-bag lunches which the boys would  bring to school the next day in old-fashioned handcarts. and leave them out in the schoolyard with a sign saying ‘Free Lunch’. When Ash had informed Lyanna, she’d laughed so hard about the fact that their little daughter was _literally_ giving away free lunches that she’d nearly fallen off the chair.

On top of that, their clever little wolf had asked the baker, fruit vendor and grocer, who’d joined in as well, to keep it a secret. Mr. Sallar had obviously thought that the girl’s parents were aware  of what she was doing, so he had accidentally spilled the beans to Ashara. Needless to say, she and Lya were very proud of their little she-wolf and her big heart.

As soon as Ash parked the car in the underground garage, Arya unbuckled her harness and sprinted into the backyard to play with Nymeria. The girl had been over the moon when her big brother had brought her a direwolf pup. While hunting out in the Wolfswood with Ned and Oberyn, Jon and Robb had found a litter of pups huddled up near their dead mother. Jon, Arya, Robb, Sansa and Bran had all got one, even Benjen, who had later brought his north of the Wall to give  him extra ‘street cred’ with the Free Folk.

Once inside, Ash was instantly hit with a mouth-watering smell coming from the kitchen. She’d seen the other SUV already parked in the garage which meant Lya was finally back home.

As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, Lyanna turned around from the island, “well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“That smells delicious.”

“ _You_ look delicious,” Lya countered, scanning up and down every inch of Ash’s body.

Ash took a couple of steps towards her wife. “Good enough to eat?”

“Sinking my teeth into you,” Lya licked her lips, “will be like tasting the most sinfully sweet fruit I’ll ever have the pleasure of eating.”

There was that hungry wolf look Ash had been waiting and longing for all week. Smirking, she took another step closer to Lya, “just your teeth?”

“A fruit as ripe and delectable as you must be _bursting_ with juices, so I’d of course have to use my lips and tongue – _thoroughly_ – in order to collect all the sugary liquid running down my fingers, making sure not even a single drop is wasted.”

For a moment, Ash forgot to breathe as she pressed her thighs together. They looked into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity before their lips finally locked in a heated kiss.

Lips, tongues and teeth clashed as they eagerly tasted each other. Two lovers drinking each other up like they were the rain to the other’s drought. The kitchen filled with a symphony of moans, gasps and soft whimpers as both women closed the no-longer-existing space between them.

Ash felt Lya’s warm hands running up and down her back, holding her tight. She reached up and removed the band from Lya’s hair, loving the feeling of running her fingers through her soft, thick mane.

She whined in protest as she noticed Lya beginning to pull away, quickly catching her lover’s lower lip between her teeth. She pushed her against the kitchen island and held her beautiful dark grey eyes hostage, conveying all the things she was currently unable to put into words.

With a low chuckle Lya abruptly pulled her head back, and wiped the blood from her lip where Ashara’s teeth had left their mark. Smirking, she offered the blood-smeared thumb to Ash who eagerly sucked it into her mouth, swirling her tongue up and down the length of the finger and around its tip. Lya withdrew her thumb and slowly ran it down the middle of Ash’s lower lip.

Ashara was panting, blood rushing in her ears, sight blurry from desire. Pressing her thighs tightly together was no longer enough to relieve the pressure building in her core. She could feel herself practically leaking, her juices coating her skin.

With nothing but a few words and a kiss, her wolf mate had already worked her up, leaving her hanging on the edge. Gods, Lya knew by heart exactly how to play her after a decade and a half of learning every ins and outs of her body and mind. It felt so good to be strung out like a wire and when it snapped... _oh,_ when it snapped, the relief was delivered with an earth-shattering force only a wolf could provide.

She finally found the strength to speak again. “I need you,” she panted.

“I’m right here, love.” Gods, those hungry eyes staring back at her, reading her every thought.

“I _need_ you, my wolf.”

“Always so impatient,” Lya chuckled, “I was only gone for a  week.”

“A month, a week or a day, it doesn’t matter – it isn’t the time, it’s the distance,” she replied in a voice weak with yearning.

In an instant, Lya dropped to her knees, scrunching up Ash’s pencil skirt stopping just below her butt. Running a thumb up and down between wet folds, Lya stopped before reaching the place Ash  needed her most, teasing. The she-wolf growled in approval at what she found.

“No panties and soaking wet already.” She inhaled loudly, “my favourite smell in the world.”

Ashara mewled in response, pushing downwards in search for more, but groaned when she felt the finger disappear once again. Her sweaty palms on the marble countertop were already beginning to lose their grip.

“Shh,” Lya crooned up at her, “let me take care of you.”

A steady hand grabbed hold of one of her ankles and slipped her foot out of the stiletto, gently placing it down on the soft surface of their wooden floor, repeating the action with her other foot as well. Next she felt her blouse gently being lifted and unbuttoned.

Ash closed her eyes trying to control her breathing, her mind hazy. She wasn’t usually this desperate, however when she was, Lya always knew how to ease her. To learn to give orders one must learn to follow them; and in the bedroom Lya had always been very good at following Ash, but she also knew how to take command when required.

Soft wet lips and a teasing tongue left trails up her abdomen while fingers prodded at her throbbing entrance. A thumb ghosted over her sensitive nub, screaming for attention.

She gasped as two fingers entered her and a deft thumb parted her lips, coating itself as it went to expertly rub on her tender nub. Legs trembling, a sob mixed with a moan escaped her mouth as relief washed over her.

“Come down here, love,” she heard her wife’s warm voice call just as her fingers curled up inside Ash’s burning hot core.

The feeling had her reeling, her knees giving up. However her wife’s firm arm around her waist held her up protectively. A warm mouth nipped, sucked and bit her breasts and all Ash could do was whimper and moan at the sensations she evoked within her, nerve endings working on overdrive.

Everything else ceased to exist. Lya was her entire world – inside her, on her, around her. A steady arm along her back provided support as she crouched, rocking in her wife’s hand, edging closer to the climax with every roll of her hips. A constant stream of sweet nothings crooned in her ear which mixed with her own incoherent mutterings.

In an attempt to further her pleasure she spread her legs, barely registering the faint sound of fabric ripping apart. The wire within her was getting so tightly strung it was only a matter of time before it’d snap. She kept panting and moaning, no longer caring who heard.

Lya nipped at her earlobe and that was all she needed to fall apart. “Come for me, my love,” her wife huskily commanded.

The wire snapped, the floodgates opened and Ash surrendered to the earthquake that was her climax as the waves of bliss swallowed her whole. Her body quivered as her walls convulsed around Lya’s fingers, a thumb still playing her nub like only a professional musician knows his instrument. With her head thrown back and her toes curled up, Ash cried out in ecstasy.

Feeling weightless, Ashara felt herself gently being brought back down to earth. Resting her head on her wolf mate’s shoulder, Lya’s fingers still inside her, she was enjoying the last few aftershocks.

“Thank you,” she sighed.

Underneath her, Lya shook lightly from suppressed laughter.

“You say that as if I could ever deny you anything,” Lya whispered back placing a soft kiss on Ash’s temple. “That was one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen,” her fingertips tenderly ran up and down her spine.

Despite the gentleness, Ash hissed as Lya withdrew her fingers. She then watched her, transfixed, suck both of them, lapping up every single drop of Ashara’s nectar, moaning in pleasure as she did so.

“Kiss me,” she demanded and her wolf immediately obeyed, opening her mouth wide letting Ash taste herself on Lya’s tongue. She gasped as a thought hit her like a ton of bricks, “Arya!”

Again, Lya chuckled, “darling, you think you and I would be sitting here if our daughter was around to walk in on us?”

“But—”

“—she’s next door with Syrio; he was waiting for her in the garden when the two of you arrived. He had a few new dance moves he wanted to teach her.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, and happy anniversary by the way.”

Ashara grinned at her wife. “What’s for dinner?”

“Sugar and spice and everything nice,” Lya grinned back.

Leaning in to rest her forehead against Lya’s, she smirked and said, “I must say the first course was one of a kind, so I have high hopes for the rest of the evening.”

“Main course is a selection of your favourite Braavosi dishes that I was hoping we could enjoy while I fill you in on the Dragonstone incident.”

“—and for dessert?”

“That’s upstairs - celebrating Dothraki style,” Lya added with a smirk.

“Looking forward to returning the gift.”

She shuffled round a bit pulling down her skirt only to discover it was ripped in one side. Positioning herself sideways in Lyanna’s lap she was met with a sheepish look.

“I think I owe you a new skirt.”

Placing a tender hand on Lya’s cheek, she smiled, “it was more than worth it – or,” she added laughingly, “—I could just walk around bare-arsed from now on.”

“You know I’d love that,” Lya flashed her a smile, “however I can’t walk around gorging out the eyes of every man and woman who’d be foolish enough to look in your direction.”

Flashing a proud smile, Ash asked, “possessive much, Lady Stark?”

“Always, Lady Dayne. A wolf protects it’s pack.”

 

\----------

 

**Meereen**

Jon wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to get himself tangled into a battle in Meereen’s greatest fighting pit. But there he was, the centre of everyone’s attention, covered in sweat, dirt and blood, though not sure if it was his or  the boy’s currently charging at him. The crowd cheered and roared at every hit, jab and thrust made by one of the fighters. Jon thought ‘fighters’ was a big word to use for children playing war-games as some sick form of entertainment. No matter what they believed here, Jon knew he was merely a boy on his way to _becoming_ a man, but he wasn’t one yet.

It was usually Arya who was good at getting into trouble and him getting her out of it. Guess he’d have to do both alone this time. Gods, he missed his little sister. Her laugh, her crazy clever mind and silly jokes, her joy and determination. Her hugs... Arya was a good hugger. And now, because of his utter stupidity, there was a big chance he might not ever get another one of her hugs. If he didn’t die here today, his mothers would surely kill him themselves when they’d hear of it.

He’d first set foot in the arena approximately a week ago. Dany, himself and their little entourage had been given a tour by the owner – a member of one of the wealthiest families in Meereen, one of the Great Masters. Jon thought it a strange name. There was nothing ‘great’ in becoming a master by walking on the backs of others, to be _truly_ ‘Great’ one should elevate people not crush them. At least in Jon’s humble opinion.

When they arrived in Meereen he and Dany had had their faces glued to their plane windows. It was a magnificent city to look at. The pyramids were a sight to behold, from above, the entire city looked like an explosion of colours. The Great Pyramid in the middle of it with the giant golden figure of a harpy on top was truly a wonder. However, the great number of arenas spread throughout the city confused Jon so he’d asked Uncle Oberyn about them.

“They’re fighting pits. They draw hundreds of thousands in every week.”

“All of them?” Jon looked between the window and Oberyn sitting next to him, “don’t they have any other sports?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, little wolf, but they _really_ like their fighting over here in Slaver’s Bay.”

A fact Jon was currently learning first hand.

A part of him felt like he’d been trapped in one of those gladiator-themed movies he used to like watching; another part could not believe that he was actually having to fight for his life and in front of an audience who genuinely seemed to lust for blood at that. The thought sent shivers down his spine. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, took a quick step to the side and knocked his opponent off his feet, making him tumble to the ground with a grunt, but only a part of the crowd erupted in loud cheers. If he could keep it up, perhaps he would gain the support of the crowd, he reckoned. It was worth a shot, so he charged at the boy who was stumbling back on his feet once again. Bloody hells, he hated this city.

Jon’s awe of Meereen hadn’t lasted beyond a few days. They had been given the honour of getting rooms within the Great Pyramid, and Jon was used to comfort - luxury even - but what he found in Meereen was decadence to an uncomfortable degree. Marble, gold and rare woods, he’d seen it all up close before, lived in mansions made of such materials, however the amounts on display at the Great Pyramid was nauseating to him. Everywhere they went they’d be flown in a private helicopter, hopping from pyramid to pyramid.

Poverty wasn’t new to Jon, but the amount he was able to spot on all their trips criss-crossing the city by air, was repulsive, not to mention the heart-shattering sight of slaves. Jon tried to imagine himself in their place and wanted to punch someone at the unfairness of it all. He couldn’t understand why someone would want to keep another human in chains, treating them worse than farm animals. More than once during their stay he had woken up from nightmares of being kept in chains, only managing to fall back asleep in Dany’s embrace, her fingers wiping his silent tears, humming a soothing song.

Truth be told, Jon knew exactly how he’d ended up battling at Meereen’s greatest pit.

Dany.

Every day for the weeks they’d been in the city, boys would line up to meet her; ‘The Harpy Sons’ as the so-called Great Masters referred to their heirs. They tried to make it look like it was the boys being paraded in front of the Princess, but Jon saw the way they looked at her – like she was their next meal, their favourite toy in the shop. Like she was something to be owned. It made his blood boil, but he’d stayed quiet knowing it wasn’t his place to say anything.

The final drop to make him explode had been an unpleasant encounter with two of the boys that had been displayed that day. Either they didn’t know he could understand them or they didn’t care because, despite noticing him,  they’d kept walking down the hallway without lowering their voices or changing subjects.

“—but why would I be interested? She hasn’t even bled yet. It’s ridiculous!” The boy in a green and black outfit had scoffed.

“I know ways to make her bleed,” the other dressed in blue boasted and they both laughed.

Jon had run directly at the last boy, grabbed him by his collar and slammed him against the wall. “She’ll never be yours!” he growled.

“You challenging me?” The asshole hissed.

“You bet your dumb ass I am!”

The two Meereenese shitheads started hollering and cheering. Dumbfounded, Jon loosened his grip.

From down the hall he heard Oberyn’s voice call out, “what’s going on here?”

“Your boy here just challenged the son of House Dhazak,” the douche in blue said triumphantly, and proceeded to shove Jon off him.

Oberyn looked at him exasperated, “for fuck’s sake, Jon!”

That’s when he’d learned that, in Meereen, ‘challenging’ one of the Great Masters or a male member of their family was equating to the Westerosi tradition of ‘trial by combat’. To make it worse, the fight wouldn’t just be till first blood but till one of the fighters yielded or died. In Slaver’s Bay, boys aged twelve and up were considered men for this exact reason. In contrast, in the Free Cities and Westeros, boys were considered men starting from fourteen and sixteen, respectively. Given only men were allowed to fight in the pits, lowering the legal age ensured the Meereenese  could send fighters in much sooner. In other words, Jon had just agreed to a dual that’d take place at Daznak’s Pit – the greatest fighting pit in Meereen.

Unfortunately for Jon he, as the challenger, wouldn’t be allowed to pick a champion to fight for him whereas the smartass of House Dhazak could – though with the rider that the champion be of same age as the individual for whom he’d be fighting. Thus he found himself face to face with a gangly-looking fourteen-year-old boy with a honey coloured complexion who, from the second Jon laid eyes on him, had looked more afraid than Jon felt. It occurred to him that the other boy was most likely a slave, a disposable object; his owner not caring if he won or lost – he just wanted entertainment. Jon _really_ hated this city.

At the impressive entrance of the pit, the private helicopter Jon & co. had arrived in was parked, pilot still in his seat ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Off to the side of the entrance a dais had been set up for the Princess and her entourage. Dany clearly looked fearful. Even from a distance Jon could see how she clung onto Ghost who sat in between her and Oberyn and looked as cool as ever. By Dany’s other side, Vizharo stood with a hand on his arakh. Behind them Sir Jaime and Captain Tarth stood watch, looking very uneasy.  

Gazing to the dais exchanging looks with Oberyn, Jon knew then what he had to do. If the crowd thought  him a man, he’d act like one – but not the kind they expected.

He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, calming himself. He shifted the spear in his hand and muttered, “please, forgive me for what I’m about to do,” as he threw the spear - full force - at the slave.

The poor boy fell to the ground with an agonising scream as the spear hit him in the shoulder.

The crowd cheered at a deafening volume. The air started glimmering as coins poured from the masses towards their new chosen champion. Even the Great Masters and their entourages sitting at the lower tiers looked entertained and satisfied with the direction  the match had taken.

On his way towards the unfortunate slave who withered in pain on the sand, Jon cast a look down to the dais again. Dany was covering her mouth in horror, tears streaming down her cheeks. Sir Jaime and Captain Tarth both stared at him in disbelief whereas Vizharo seemed to have a knowing sad look. Oberyn sent him a cool, hard look before giving a curt nod.

Jon looked away in shame, however, the job wasn’t finished yet.

Marching up to the slave, he placed a foot on his chest and wrapped his hands around the spear. “Do you yield?” He asked, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he took another deep breath

“Yes,” the slave whimpered.

“Do you yield?” Jon repeated louder, adding a light pressure on the staff.

“Yes!” the slave gasped, “I yield!”

As Jon pulled the spear free and raised it victoriously in the air, the crowd roared. Even the Great Masters applauded him.

Despite looking appalled, the slave boy accepted Jon’s hand who helped him back on his feet.

Jon wrapped his arm across the other boy’s back, providing support to help keep him standing and turned towards the assholes of House Dhazak to announce, “I claim him!”

The arena quieted down at that.

“Go ahead,” a large man in a blue suit bellowed, “it’s damaged property anyway.”

“If you clean up the pit, I’m sure you’ll find coins to buy 100 more,” Jon replied dismissively as he waved Captain Tarth down.

Brienne was in front of them in a few quick strides.

“Take him to the helicopter.”

“—but his wound,” Brienne began.

“That’s an order, Captain,” Jon answered through clenched teeth.

A quick look of surprise crossed the Captain’s face before she replied, “yes, Lord Dayne.”

When Brienne had left his side, Jon turned to face the dais and pointed his spear directly at Dany. “—and her! I claim the Princess Daenerys Targaryen!”

“You can’t do that!” House Dhazak junior-asshat shrieked.

The arena had gone completely silent now. The air was thick with anticipation as everyone awaited  what would happen next.

Dany glared at Jon with a mix of fury, betrayal and confusion. He tried sending her a small encouraging smile, but didn’t seem to be doing any good. If only he had a way of letting her know what his plan was; that he could feel what was coming.

A deep slow laugh from somewhere close to the dais started echoing across the pit. A large man in a pink suit was laughing so hard his entire belly wobbled. Turning to look at the members of House Dhazak, stretching an arm in Jon’s direction, he asked in a deep calm voice, “he’s the challenger, is he not?”

“Yes,” junior Dhazak replied distressed, “—and?”

“—and the challenge was all about the Princess, was it not?”

“It was.”

“—and he won,” the man in pink laughed again. “So of course he can claim the object of the challenge.”

“No!” the boy in blue fumed, “she’s mine!” He set off from his seat storming towards Jon who was sending him a relaxed smile.

The crowd gasped almost in unison as the sun was blocked by a large winged figure landing atop of the pit’s entrance way. His screech had everyone covering their ears – everyone but Dany, Jon and Vizharo.

The boy in blue stopped in his tracks and fell to the ground.

Jon turned his head towards the dais, “get to the helicopter,” he commanded calmly.

With a smirk, Oberyn got on his feet and quickly shuffled Dany and Ghost along, Sir Jaime and Vizharo following in tow.

Walking backwards towards the helicopter, eyes fixed on the boy cowering in the sand, Jon yelled pointing up at Stormcloud who looked menacingly at everyone, “you want the Princess? You tell _him_ , not me.”  

Stormcloud let out a roar as the helicopter took off, letting it glide into the air before he took off himself.

After a short stop at the Great Pyramid for Oberyn and Jaime to quickly collect everyone’s bags, the Royal plane left Meereen behind immediately, heading to Qohor.

In the back of the plane Captain Tarth and Sir Jaime were tending to the slave with a little help from Vizharo, while the Dornish Prince checked on Dany and Jon, both younglings visibly shaken. Oberyn wrapped Dany in a warm blanket, scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the couch where Jon sat silent as a rock – Ghost at his side, whining.

Oberyn gently placed her on the couch, and laid a tender kiss atop her silver-blond hair. Scratching Ghost between his ears, he uttered, “he’ll be ok, boy, just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Having fetched a small bowl of water, Oberyn knelt in front of Jon. “Let’s get you cleaned up a bit, little wolf,” he said softly wiping the dirt and grime off Jon’s face.

The cabin went quiet as Oberyn worked on cleaning Jon’s cuts and bruises. Slowly, the reality of what he’d done began to hit him. His lip started trembling and silent warm tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I almost killed that boy,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “Mama’s going to kill me!”

Dany scooted closer, resting her head on his narrow shoulder, moulding herself up against him.

“Jon, look at me,” Oberyn spoke quietly but firmly. “First of all, you didn’t kill him – you _saved_ him from being killed. Secondly, she might want to initially but, when you tell her how this came to happen, she’ll understand you were in a very difficult situation and that you made the right choice.”

Jon nodded absentmindedly. “I don’t think he thinks of it as me saving him,” he muttered.

“—but he does,” Oberyn assured him. “If you hadn’t claimed him, his Master would’ve surely had him killed anyway.”

Jon looked unconvinced.

The Dornish Prince continued, unfazed, “his name is Eqhal mo Ezral, born and raised in one of Meereen’s lower pyramids. A few years ago his own father sold him due to a large gambling debt – same reason both his parents were executed last year. He has no family left. He thought he was destined to live the rest of his life as a slave to a boy he used to think of as a friend.”

Dany gasped and, sitting this close to her, Jon could feel her body tensing up in unvoiced fury.

“—unfortunately, not an uncommon practice on these shores, kiddos. I’m sorry. I’d hoped I had a few more years before you had to learn that lesson.” He finished bandaging Jon’s eyebrow and, with an index finger under his chin, he raised the boy’s face and looked into those sad blue eyes. “You helped that boy so he could get a fresh start. You can only help people from a position of strength, and sometimes strength can be a terrible thing.”

Jon nodded, grasping the weight of the lesson, “I understand, Sir.”

Tussling Jon’s hair, Oberyn got back on his feet. “I know you do, my little wolf. Now you two get some rest,” he said looking between Dany and Jon before settling down next to Vizharo a few seats down.

Jon was surprised then as Dany got off the couch, but she only told him to lie down and   proceeded to bring him a blanket. She laid down next to him, and tucked her head against Jon’s chest.

“Will you promise me something?” she asked quietly.

“Anything, Dany,” he wrapped an arm over her waist holding her close.

“Next time there’s an opportunity for you to play hero, don’t take it please?”

He shifted his head, trying to look at her, “what do you mean?”

“Heroes do stupid things and then they die.” She looked up, on the brink of tears, “and you could’ve died today, Jon.”

“Dany, I didn’t do it to be a hero,” he said softly.

A flash of anger crossed her eyes, “then _why_ did you do it?” she hissed.

“Because a wolf protects it’s pack.”

Her eyes immediately softened as she whispered, “I’m part of your pack?”

“You’ve always been, Dany. It couldn’t _be_ without you” he whispered back, kissing her softly on the tip of her nose before closing his eyes and, with a contempt sigh, quickly fell asleep from exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I know you still haven't had any Dany pov's and that's because Jon is still being set up, however I promise we'll get to Dany in later chapters. Pinky swear.
> 
> There will be some characters whose pov's I won't be writing, some like Tyrion, Olenna and Oberyn because I don't feel intelligent enough to do that in a way that would do them justice; some will be left out for plot purposes - sorry *shrugs*

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think or if you have any ideas / suggestions. I'm a fragile soul so use kind words to me and each other please 🥰🥰🥰
> 
> I'll do my best to not let you wait too long for the next chapter.


End file.
